The Martyrs' Cemetery of Timișoara

The Martyrs' Cemetery in Timișoara holds the graves of more than a hundred people killed in December 1989, when protests against Ceaușescu began here and spread across Romania. Every year on 17 December, a ceremony remembers them.

The Martyrs' Cemetery in Timișoara is not hard to find. It sits on the western edge of the city, behind a low wall and a row of poplars, on the road out toward Utvin. There is a tram stop nearby, and a small car park that fills on one day of the year. The rest of the time it is quiet. The gate is open from dawn until dusk. There is no ticket office, no turnstile, no one to ask you what you are doing there.

The cemetery is called Cimitirul Eroilor, the Heroes' Cemetery, though the word eroi carries a weight here that the English 'hero' does not. The people buried here died in December 1989, during the revolution that began in Timișoara and spread across Romania. More than a thousand people were killed nationwide in those days. Over a hundred of them were from this city. Their graves are arranged in neat rows on a gentle slope, marked by simple crosses and headstones. Some have photographs. Some have only names and dates. A few have no name at all.

The graves and their inscriptions

The graves are not uniform. Families were allowed to choose the stone and the inscription, so walking through the rows is like reading a fragmented diary. Here is a young man, born in 1968, died on 17 December 1989, his photograph showing a square jaw and a dark jacket. Next to him, a woman in her fifties, a pensioner, killed on 18 December. Further along, a boy of seventeen, a student at a technical college, his parents' names carved beneath his. Some stones carry the words 'Erou al Revoluției' — Hero of the Revolution. Others say only 'Martir' — Martyr. A few say nothing but the name and the dates.

The dates on the stones cluster around 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20 December 1989. On 16 December, a protest began in front of the house of the Reformed pastor László Tőkés on Piața Maria. It was a response to his forced eviction. By evening, the crowd had grown, and the security forces fired on it. The next day, 17 December, the protests spread to the city centre, and the violence intensified. By 20 December, Timișoara was in open revolt. Ceaușescu declared a state of emergency, but it was too late. On 21 December, he held a rally in Bucharest that turned into a disaster for him. On 22 December, he fled. He and his wife were executed on Christmas Day.

The dead in Timișoara were not all protesters. Some were passers-by. Some were killed in their apartments by stray bullets. Some were children. The youngest in the cemetery is a girl of three months, killed by a bullet that came through a window. Her grave is a small white stone, with a lamb carved on it. Her parents are not buried here; they survived. They come every year on 17 December. I saw them once, an old man and an old woman, standing apart from the crowd, not speaking to anyone. They had brought a small pot of chrysanthemums, the kind you buy from the market for a few lei. They did not stay long.

A bullet does not choose. It went through a window and took a child who had done nothing but sleep.

The annual commemoration

Every year on 17 December, there is a ceremony at the cemetery. It begins at noon. A priest from the Orthodox cathedral says a service, and a Reformed pastor says a prayer. A Roman Catholic priest says a prayer. A rabbi has come in some years. After the religious part, the mayor of Timișoara speaks. Then a representative of the revolutionaries' association reads the names of the dead. It takes a long time to read them all. People stand in the cold, holding candles. Some are old, some are young. Some are in uniform, some are in worn coats. The ceremony lasts about an hour. After it, people walk among the graves, putting down flowers and lighting candles. The candles are in red glass holders, and by evening the cemetery glows with hundreds of small flames.

The 17 December ceremony is the main one, but there are others. On 16 December, there is a procession from Piața Maria to the cemetery. It starts at 4 pm, at the spot where the first shots were fired. People walk the three kilometres to the cemetery, carrying banners and candles. The traffic is stopped by police. It is a quiet procession, not a march. There are no chants, no songs. On 20 December, there is another ceremony, smaller, at the cemetery, organised by a different group of revolutionaries. They disagree with the official association on some things, and they hold their own event. The cemetery is big enough for both.

The cemetery is not only for the dead of 1989. In the years since, some of the survivors have asked to be buried here, alongside their comrades. The law allows it. So there are now graves of men and women who died in the 1990s and 2000s, with the inscription 'Luptător în Revoluția din Decembrie 1989' — Fighter in the December 1989 Revolution. They are placed in a newer section, behind the original rows. The stones are similar, but the dates are different. It is a reminder that the revolution did not end in December 1989. It continued in the lives of those who survived, and it continues now.

What the cemetery asks of visitors

There is a small chapel at the entrance, built in 1999. It is open during the day. Inside, there are lists of the dead, handwritten in ledgers, and a few photographs on the walls. There is no guidebook, no audio guide, no interactive display. If you want to know who these people were, you have to look at the stones, and you have to know the history. The cemetery assumes you know why you are there. It does not explain itself.

The cemetery is not a museum. It is a burial ground. People come here to visit family graves. On an ordinary Tuesday, you might see an old woman kneeling at a grave, weeding it, talking to it. You might see a man in a suit, standing with his hands behind his back, looking at a stone. You might see a school group, brought by a teacher, standing awkwardly while the teacher explains what happened. The cemetery is part of the city's daily life, not separate from it. That is its strength.

In 2019, for the thirtieth anniversary, there was a larger ceremony. The President of Romania came, and the Prime Minister, and the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church. There were speeches and wreaths. The cemetery was crowded. But on 17 December 2020, because of the pandemic, the ceremony was limited. Only a few people were allowed inside. The others stood outside the gate, in the rain, listening to the service over a loudspeaker. It was a strange sight: a hundred people with umbrellas, standing in silence, while inside the cemetery a priest read the names. The dead did not mind. They were already dead.

The cemetery is open every day. There is no entrance fee. To get there, take tram 1 or 2 to the stop at Calea Șagului, then walk ten minutes along the road. The gate is on the left. If you go on 17 December, dress warmly. The ceremony is outdoors, and the wind comes off the fields. Bring a candle. You can buy one at the entrance, but they run out. If you go on another day, you will likely be alone. That is also worth doing. The graves are well kept. The grass is cut. Someone is taking care of them.

There is a monument in the centre of the cemetery, a tall stone cross with a bronze figure of a woman holding a child. It was unveiled in 1992. The inscription reads: 'În memoria celor care s-au jertfit pentru libertatea poporului român' — In memory of those who sacrificed themselves for the freedom of the Romanian people. It is a formal statement. The graves around it are more personal. Together, they tell the story of what happened here. It is not a happy story, but it is a true one. The cemetery does not try to make it beautiful. It simply stands there, on the edge of the city, and waits.